


Initiation Games

by Splintered_Star



Series: turk!khint au [3]
Category: Bravely Default (Video Game) & Related Fandoms, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splintered_Star/pseuds/Splintered_Star
Summary: Every group has rituals when you join. Even the turks.
Series: turk!khint au [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/218216
Kudos: 1





	Initiation Games

Becoming a Turk, Khint discovered, could be a deceptively simple process.

There was paperwork to be read and signed and suits to be fitted, but none of the elaborate tests of loyalty or competence that he expected. Rumors of the Turk Application Process had filtered down into the slums, involving everything from fights to the death to stealing important documents.

Then again, Khint hadn’t exactly applied for the position.

Khint followed behind Tseng into the Turk common area. He scanned it in an instant – couches lined the walls and surrounded a huge TV – there was a small kitchenette in one corner, with a coffee maker that looked twice as expensive as anything around it – and a dozen Turks, lounging on the couches or glaring at the coffee maker.

As they entered, a dozen sets of eyes flicked up from what they were looking at – first to Tseng, and then to Khint. Khint wasn’t sure which gaze he should hold, which one was the greatest threat. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw half of a hand gesture from Tseng. A dozen sets of eyes flicked back down to whatever they had been doing before.

All but one, that was.

“Oi, sword fucker! Fight me!” The red headed Turk pointed a finger at him, his other hand wrapped around a shot glass. “Or are you gonna give up again?”

Khint raised his eyebrows slightly. Whatever he had been expecting, that hadn’t been it.

“It was two against one,” he said, aware that every Turk was watching the confrontation, “The odds weren’t in my favor.” That fight would have risked his life and his health, and he wasn’t willing to stake that much for free.

Reno snorted and chugged whatever was in his glass. Alcoholic, clearly, but was the man drunk? Impossible to tell. “Well then fight me /now/, fuckface. One on one.”

He glanced back to Tseng. Tseng meet his eyes and inclined his head. “You are not obligated to fight him,” he started, ignoring Reno’s objection, “But if you /wish/ to, there’s a training room down the hall.”

Khint analyzed his statement for traps and found none. It was unlikely that they would kill him or allow him to come to serious harm after going to the effort of acquiring him. It was likely that this was some sort of initiation ritual, or possibly a form of test, either official or unofficial. It may have simply been a challenge, from one fighter to another, with no rewards for the winner and no cost to the loser.

He looked at the Turk – Reno, his name was. Khint had known him by reputation if not by name – quick, clever, favored an e-mag but capable with anything in reach. He narrowed his eyes. The battle would be a challenge, even one on one.

It had been a very long time since Khint had fought with no consequences.

“Hand to hand?” He asked. His weapons were still confiscated, after all.

Reno grinned like a mad dog and dropped his empty shot glass onto the couch. “Na, I wanna see that sword of yours in action. Come on, your gear’s in the weapons locker.”

“I am going to work on paperwork,” Tseng interrupted before Khint could follow. “Rude, make sure that Reno doesn’t break the rookie.”

Reno’s normal partner – tall, bald, sunglasses on his face even indoors; a reputation for efficiency and brutality – stood up from his place on the couch, sparing half a moment to move Reno’s dropped shot glass to the table. He nodded once to Tseng and then gestured with a gloved hand to Khint. Khint followed him down the hall, absently aware of most of the Turks following to watch.

A battle for pleasure, with spectators rather than bystanders and nothing on the line but bragging rights. Strange.

Stranger still, Khint found he was looking forward to it.

Tseng watched the spar through the camera feed in his office. Khint was good, as good as rumored – he fought efficiently, with none of Reno’s flourishes. Tseng leaned on his palm, narrowing his eyes as Khint caught Reno’s swung e-mag on the flat of his sword. Electricity cackled along the edge of the sword – and then the sword glowed very faintly and the energy dissipated.

Magic absorb. It was a rare materia, but likely quite useful in his line of work. Khint pushed back against the blow – and in a quick movement Khint flicked his thumb over another materia slot in the handle and his weapon glowed with flame. Interesting. They hadn’t taken an add element materia off of him, but it was possibly an attribute of the weapon itself. He rarely used any other weapon.

Turning away from the battle, Tseng finished up the few bits of paperwork he hadn’t yet organized for Khint’s absorption into the Turks. His battle tactics were clearly excellent, his loyalty assured, discretion likely not an issue – however, his torture endurance was unknown, as was his infiltration skills. He was likely unused to working in a team. And he was well known among certain circles, which would be useful or problematic, depending.

As for assuring his loyalty... Tseng composed a short message to one of his resources (though the man would personally hate the description): “I need to set up a secure transfer, and erase some trails. Are you available?” Attached to the message were the details of the financial accounts. The man would be able to find everything else from there.

A few minutes of watching the battle – Khint’s blade glowed white, likely a status effect, though it was difficult to tell without Reno allowing a hit – he received his reply. “Of course, I’ll have it done by the end of the day,” the message read, “It’ll be no trouble at all. Is this Official Business?”

Tseng raised his eyebrows. This particular contractor was adroit and observant, aware of aspects of the Turks that most of the Board was not and was willing to work with them, but he still maintained idealism and a sense of ethics. Tseng was never entirely certain if the idealism was a desperate attempt to avoid a mental collapse or if the man were simply much better at the game than anyone else Tseng had every known – but the man’s assistance, for whatever reason it was offered, was much too valuable to not use.

“Of a sort,” he replied, “As always, thank you for your assistance.”

On the screen, the battle continued.

Khint dodged a blow rather than take the hit – Reno figured out the magic drain early and switched off the materia amplification on his e-mag, but getting hit would still hurt. He’d switched to a sleep effect after that, but Reno was quick on his feet – quicker than even the rumors had led him to believe – and he hadn’t managed a solid hit yet.

Reno grinned and twisted his grip on his weapon – but the grin was as familiar as the tactic, and Khint blocked the next attack easily. Ten years older, ten years more experienced – but the way Reno moved and the way he fought was at its heart the same as any quick-footed slum kid, and was only a little bit faster than Jackal.

That thought distracted Khint for a spare second, but he shook it off. No time to think of the boy now.

It was long past the point where he normally would have bowed out, where the money he was earning wasn’t worth the risk of injury - except there was no bowing out of this fight, not with a dozen curious bystanders, and there was no payment, no risk of lasting harm –

-nothing but the rush of battle, the split-second instinctual response – he swung for Reno’s shoulder, pushing forward, because he’d been on the defensive too long – his blood was pounding in his ears – Reno twisted to dodge and kicked out in the same movement –

-it caught him in the stomach, but Khint shifted his grip on his sword and swung towards Reno’s side –

-and felt the e-mag in his throat.

He stilled his blade a hair’s breath away from Reno’s side, suddenly aware of his own breath. Reno’s finger twitched on the trigger, but any movement by either of them would slice open his side.

Stalemate.

The two fighters locked eyes, battle instincts running too high for either of them to quite pull their weapons away. The silence was broken with a slow, steady footsteps into the room, and then the quiet chatter of the other Turks. Khint dropped the tension from his shoulders intentionally, and pulled his blade away.

“Finished?” Tseng. Khint checked over his blade, and sheathed it with a nod. Reno grinned and set his E-mag on his shoulder.

“Rookie’s not bad, for a rookie.” Khint’s scarred eye twitched under his hair at Reno’s comment, but he did not respond. He glanced around the room instead – a crowd of Turks, chattering amongst themselves in the broken silence, snippets of enthusiastic commentary about the battle. He did not feel like a spectacle, like his prowess had been shown off to impress an employer. It was – interesting. “Hey,” Reno gestured with his e-mag to get Khint’s attention, “That sword’ve yours. We didn’t take an add-elem off ya, did we?”

His tone was curious, not accusing – one warrior to another, not threat assessment. And perhaps it was valuable for Turks to understand each other’s weapons. Khint tapped the handle of his sword.

“Weapon attribute.” He turned to Tseng, instead of continuing this strange after-battle chat. “Sir.”

Tseng’s expression was unreadable. “If you’re finished, there’s some paperwork we need to discuss.”

From the smirk on Reno’s face, paperwork was the least of it. But Khint nodded, and followed Tseng out of the training room.

**Author's Note:**

> More old drafts! 
> 
> It's been like four years and reno shouting "oi sword fucker fight me" still makes me laugh


End file.
